Streets
by JackOwens1860
Summary: Batman meets Jason for the first time. Bruce's POV. Rated M for Jason's infrequent expletives.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I like Jason, even when he was a tearaway. At least he wasn't scared of Bruce in the same way Dick and Tim were. And he was, regardless of opinion, a good Robin. Anyone who's read _Batman: The Cult_ will know how kick-ass Jason can be when Batman needs him. To that end, I wrote my own origin story on Jason and Bruce's meeting. If liked, there will be more to follow in the vein of _Meeting in Darkness, _although they will be radically different because this is Jason, not Dick. Enjoy**

**Streets**

Intelligence is a measure of intellect. It is a method of ascertaining whether or not individuals possess the cognitive function required to carry out the tasks demanded of them and how efficiently. Intelligence comes in many forms. It exists in all walks of life and can be obtained from experience, birth or merely instinct. My own intelligence is a combination of all these things. It is required to function at the highest level due to the nature of my work. It therefore surprises me that my supposedly superior intellect, harnessed by decades of experience and practice, has been outwitted by a child.

It is an odd feeling as I stand before my car and find it no longer has its wheels. If the boy responsible for liberating them had not returned, it might have taken me days to find him. Despite this amateur thief making a somewhat simplistic error in returning to the scene of the crime, I cannot help but feel I am on the losing side. Regardless of my catching him in the act - he was still brandishing a tire iron - the boy has succeeded in accomplishing his mission. I wager he did not stumble across my vehicle by chance; I have only been gone half-an-hour. This child, barely a teenager, had planned this particular operation. That means reconnaissance. He was probably watching me from a high vantage point as I parked up in the alleyway. The fact that he was able to remove and store the tyres in such a short amount of time points to a very high skill level where this work is concerned and appropriate arrangements negotiated for securing the merchandise. He must also have somehow been aware of the car's security systems being partially inactive. It suggests he may have been observing my movements for weeks in anticipation. The whole scenario is interesting to say the least.

The boy in question is evidently a resident of these streets given his immediate reaction to being caught. He flees down the back alleyway towards Amusement Mile, where the innumerable condemned tenements and flooded tunnels make losing track of him a very real possibility. As he runs, I note his running gait. He runs like a sprinter should with his head down and his upper body bent forward at a forty-five degree angle. He pushes directly off his toes and drives himself forward with very sharp arm movements. In making sure he adheres to these principles, the boy has already covered almost two hundred meters before I gave chase. I am aware that pursuing him on foot is not advisable. With his lead and knowledge of the city infrastructure, it is almost impossible to secure capture. So I take to the rooftops utilizing my grapnel.

In spite of the dark and poor light conditions, I manage to keep track of the boy. Even after running hard for the best part of a mile, he is still not satisfied of having eluded me. I watch him slip into a condemned factory just off the main bridge. I know this area as well. That particular factory used to be home to an army of vagrants and homeless individuals until they were forced out under health and safety legislation. The foundations are unsound. The whole building could collapse under slightest fluctuation in weight. It would therefore be unwise to follow him into such a structure. This boy is very intelligent. Fortunately, I have gathered sufficient information on this child to deduce where he has hidden the tyres. I return to the car. I then retrace the boy's escape route, stopping when I arrive at the back entrance of what was once a pizza parlour. As expected, the door has a padlock attached to it. But again, as expected, the door is in fact open; the padlock is just there for show. As soon as I step inside, I locate the tyres. They are stacked neatly against the far wall with all their relevant components laid out in front of them. They are not alone here; there are literally dozens of tyres in the room in similar condition. This is not unlike a display room. Perhaps the boy has clients. Perhaps not. In any case, I will soon find out regardless.

I wait for hours. The boy will be coming back here soon. Hidden under a floorboard directly beneath the door is a box of provisions. It is mostly candy, but also carries a torn blanket and a small roll of dollar bills amounting to just over one-hundred dollars. I imagine this place will also serve as shelter for a more secure night's sleep. Shortly after three in the morning, the boy returns. He is breathless and wet. It has been raining. He shivers violently before hurriedly shutting the door. The night air is cold. I watch from my vantage point as he removes the floorboard and secures his valuables. He wraps the blanket tightly round his shoulders, shoves the money in his jacket pocket and eats some of the candy. He then sits with his back firmly against the door. He performs all these movements in the dark and without difficulty. He is comfortable surviving in such austere conditions; he is already half-asleep by the time I stand up and cross the room.

"Impressive." I say, watching the boy's head jerk up with startling speed, followed by the rest of his body in rapid succession. He is once more preparing to run. "I wouldn't." I tell him.

"Why?"

"Your right sneaker is missing its shoelace; given the weather conditions outside and your current exhaustion, you would lose your shoe in the first few minutes and I would catch you regardless."

"So what's the difference if I run or not?"

"Wet feet."

I hear him smirk. "I didn't know you had a sense of humour." The boy sits back down again. "Light switch is…"

"Yes, I am aware." I reach above him and flick the switch. A harsh, fluorescent light floods the room. It buzzes as we regard one another. The boy is no older than twelve or thirteen, very fresh-faced and quite slight. His T-shirt and jacket are several sizes too big for his frame as are his sneakers, making his evasion of me even more impressive. His hair, although damp, is recently cut. It is strawberry-blond. His jeans are ripped at the knee. Blood has dried around the holes. He grins at me, displaying remarkably white teeth. He is, in short, very pleasing to look at. It is worrying given the type of scum who frequent this neighbourhood.

"Y'know, in the light, you look kinda stupid. With the ears and the tights and everything." His remark, although undoubtedly intended as facetious, is accurate. My uniform is of far greater effect when away from the light.

"I will take your comments under consideration. Right now I have some questions." The boy's reaction is to slouch back against the door and shrug his shoulders.

"I don't do questions, big guy."

"I see. Well, in that case, I will simply take my tyres and leave you to it." I say turning towards the tyres. The boy sneers.

"Yeah, reverse-psychology isn't going to work on me. I'm not scared of being alone in the dark here." I continue towards the tyres, not looking back.

"I never had any expectations it would." I grab two tyres and begin walking back to the door. The boy watches me in silence. I stop in front of him. "Please move." He does as instructed. Outside it is still raining heavily. In a short while I have re-attached the two front tyres and secured them from further theft. I return to collect the other tyres only to find the boy already stood in the doorway holding them. He offers them to me in silence. "Thank you." I say relieving him of the burden; they are quite heavy for someone of his size to transit. I am grateful for his assistance. Less than ten minutes later, all four tyres are in place and I am ready to depart. By this stage, the boy has turned off the light and closed the door again. However, he is on the wrong side of the door.

"You should go back inside. The temperature is still falling." I call to him over the sound of rainfall.

"Do you still want to ask those questions, big man?" He shouts back, hugging his body.

"I might. Why?"

"Give me a ride and I'll give you answers." I do not take passengers. However, the boy is now hopelessly cold and wet. I do feel a certain degree of pity for this youth, his apparent situation and problems. So I humour him.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Nowhere. Just for a drive. Your car's pretty sweet, y'know." It is not unreasonable to assume he is lonely and wants companionship. Either that or he is simply bored of his lifestyle and would like a more unusual memory to comfort himself with in future. I gesture with my hand.

"Come here."

The boy wanders over. By now, he is completely soaked through and, even if he were to go back inside at this juncture, the chances of hypothermia setting in are quite high. I open the car and watch him scramble inside. I join him a moment later. As I fire up the engine, I watch him begin to experiment with the centre console's various functions. He quickly finds the heating system and adjusts it to his own tastes. Remarkably, he then sits back in his seat, puts on the seatbelt and waits. I am surprised at his restraint. We begin to drive onto the road. He watches my movements intently, no doubt figuring out how the car is operated. When I look at him, he looks away.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Your name."

"Jason."

"Your full name."

"Jason Peter Todd."

"Enter that into the screen please."

"Why?"

"It will help us avoid some more obvious lines of questioning."

The boy is reluctant but complies with my instructions. The computer is able to produce a criminal record in seconds. The charges are unsettling. Aside from the anticipated counts of petty theft, grand theft auto and illegal sales of stolen goods, there are also far more disturbing counts. This boy has been arrested twice for prostitution and public indecency in the past three months. I expected a difficult life…but not this. Jason has seen this information too and is studying my reaction. When I say nothing for minutes after, he decides he needs to justify his actions.

"Two-Face killed my dad, okay? They wanted to shove me in foster care because my mom's pushing up daisies too. I didn't want that shit so I stayed on the streets. Stuff gets harder to steal every day because of guys like you on every corner. I needed money to eat so I did what I had to, okay? I did what I had to." For some strange reason, this boy wants my respect. His eyes are looking at me in desperation for acceptance even if his voice is tough. He does not know me. He has no reason to trust me, especially given his current circumstances. But he wants my respect. He has it.

"I am in no position to judge you, Jason." I offer as a reply. Jason looks away again. He grows very quiet. Since he is clearly not in a conversational mood, given what has just been exposed, I scrutinize the database further. His father, Peter Todd, is listed amongst those individuals Dent murdered last August. He has his own criminal record with a string of petty crimes pointing to a less than gifted thief and enforcer. His last listed address was a one room apartment above Jerry's Pizza Shack in Park Row. It is the same building I found Jason using earlier. It has been closed for over a year. His mother, Catherine Todd, died of breast cancer some four years prior to his father's murder. It all adds up to a very unhappy childhood.

"Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"How long have you been stealing tyres and hub caps?"

"About a month. I used to steal cars, but people notice more when they go missing. So I went smaller."

"Who were you intending to sell them to?"

"Does it matter? I doubt you're just gonna let me sell them now."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because you're the good guy. Good guys don't let criminals get away with stuff; they fucking come down on them, hard." The boy bangs his fist down on an open hand to emphasize his point. He still has yet to look at me again. He does not need to be ashamed of his past actions. He acted out of a need for survival. It is not my place to say whether or not I would have done the same; our lives are very different.

"What would you suggest I do with you now?"

"I don't know: take me to a social worker or something."

"Do you think they might be able to help you?"

"No. That's just what good guys do to bad kids. They take them to see social workers."

"What if I don't feel that would be in your best interests?" The boy seems to find my inquiries humorous. He is laughing.

"Jesus Christ. Do criminals really fear you? You obviously must keep your mouth shut when you smash their skulls because no-one would give a crap about you if counseling was your weapon of choice." I am unsure whether Jason is attempting to rattle me deliberately or merely due to his nature. His derisive remarks against me are not ill-deserved; perhaps I do have a tendency to 'preach' too much.

"How am I doing?"

"You're fucking awful at it. Stick to the shadows." The boy's coarse language has increased in its frequency. He is either upset or angry with me; he does not need to curse if he does not wish to. I try a more direct approach with him.

"I want to help you."

"Like you helped that other kid? The one you let run around in his skivvies and a cape?" It is always interesting to have an outsider's point of view on my activities. Jason's perspective of mine and Dick's relationship is clearly one of deviancy, given the manner in which he said it. As soon as I give my answer, I am already prepared for his retort.

"I don't need another partner."

"Good 'cause I'm not gonna let you fuck me." Yes, I was correct in my assumption. He is not alone in his conclusions; many people, Jim Gordon included, found Dick's recruitment somewhat suspect.

"Not that particular definition of 'partner'."

Jason is looking at me again. He frowns. "Does nothing I say make you mad?"

"Anger is counter-productive." The boy hesitates with his next question, but manages to articulate it.

"Do you like me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you have potential."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means you deserve more than what you have."

"I don't want your help."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know who you are. I know you're 'Batman', but that's just a mask. Even criminals don't run with guys in masks. No names are fine if we can see your face, but no names and no face? Forget it."

"Who do you think I am?"

Jason's reaction to this question is to puff out his cheeks, slump back in his head and fold his arms. He considers it briefly before shaking his head. "I don't know…Bruce Wayne?" I am not so much astonished as intrigued. The dismissive manner in which he just spoke, tells me he does not really believe his answer. He laughs and shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, why not? The guy's got enough money, he's built like you and I think his playboy thing is an act; he's trying too hard to make it work." Jason looks over at me with a smile. "So, are you Bruce Wayne?" He thinks he is wrong and is expecting me to tell him as such. I meet his gaze, but say nothing. He shrugs his shoulders again.

"Even if you are him, nobody's gonna believe me. I'm just a street kid, after all; we're lower than garbage in this city." Although he is still smiling when finishing that sentence, it begins to fade the longer a silence between us goes on. Soon it is gone completely. He looks at me with real concentration, focusing intently on my face. After a while, he speaks.

"You _are_ Bruce Wayne, aren't you? Wow that's messed up. A guy like you, all the money in the world, doing this every night of the week? Did your parents dying really screw with you that badly?" I stop the car. I do not slam on the brakes; I merely bring the car to a halt. I look at him, deciding whether or not my relationship with him ends here. What I say next is important, perhaps even defining for how long my career as Batman will last. This boy knows who I am. It really does not take a genius to deduce a mystery of this scale, as I always feared.

"And hasn't losing your parents affected you too? Didn't losing your mother change your entire life? And didn't losing your father change it yet again?"

"Don't analyze me, rich boy. You don't know how I feel about the past."

"Only because you haven't told me. Do you want revenge on Two-Face?"

"What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I want revenge. I want to kill him. I want him to know how my dad felt. I want him to beg for mercy, plead with me not to kill him. Then I will. I dream about it at night…" Jason trails off, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "I can hear the screams he'll make when I come to end him. It's like music…" I tap him lightly in the chest to snap him out of it. We look at one another without saying a word. It lasts for almost ten minutes. The boy is thinking about everything that has transpired tonight. I am the same.

Jason is not Dick. Jason Peter Todd is an angry and confused teenager who has suffered horrible abuse on the streets just to survive. He is suffering from multiple traumas, the biggest of which may not necessarily be the death of his father. His sexual abuse is a particularly difficult sticking point. But he has potential. The boy is smart, resourceful and fearless. He is a proven survivor, regardless of circumstance. I could train him using the same methods I used on Dick; teach him to use his anger for a good cause. I know that, without help of any description, Jason will lapse into an inescapable life of crime. Even should he receive help from social workers or foster parents, I do not feel it would be beneficial for him. More than likely, he will turn back to the streets and petty crime. I know I can help him. It is only his stubbornness halting my progress. Perhaps, given time to think his situation over, Jason has warmed to the idea.

"Bruce?" The boy asks. I do not bother to conceal the fact from him anymore by refusing to answer. This displays trust. If he were to accept the offer, we would need plenty of trust.

"Yes, Jason?"

"If I were to go with you, would I get to live in your house?"

"I can make such an arrangement if that is to your liking."

"Do I have to become Robin?"

"Not if you do not wish it."

"Even though I know who you are?"

"When I said I wanted to help you, I meant it. I can work without a partner if you do not wish to."

"But, if I did, you could train me to the same standard as the other kid? I could do all that cool acrobatic stuff and beat-up dozens of scumbags without any trouble like he did?"

"If you were willing to try, I would train you to be like him, perhaps even better."

Jason is considering very carefully. He knows this will change his life either way, should he accept any form of help from me. The boy is reckless and stubborn, angry and hurt, but he has potential. I would like him to at least attempt the training.

"I want to be good. But what if I'm not good enough?" He asks looking anxious, the first time I have seen such an expression of fear from him.

"We won't know if you don't try." Jason nods his head.

"I want to try. This isn't asking for help though." Even though it blatantly is exactly that, I do not demean him by saying so. This way, he thinks he has won. It is important for his self-esteem. I offer the right reply:

"No, this is going to be an audition." Jason smiles at me, nodding his head.

"Audition; I like that."

As we continue to drive, now heading back to the cave, I am under no illusion. This entire venture could end in tears. This new boy could die. All of this now could be a huge mistake. But I must have faith. This boy is not Dick and things are not guaranteed to end on the same sour note. Jason could turn out to be a better Robin than he was. And, while I may not need a partner, I find myself wanting one desperately. If Jason is good enough, he will become Robin. If he is not, I will still keep him; as much as I want a partner, another son to share the house with would also be welcome. So I will try to keep this boy. I will try to make him the Robin Dick should have been. I will try…


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Just a taster for things to come. Bruce auditions Jason and is pleased with what he discovers about his new protégé. More tomorrow.**

**Audition**

I am not sure what I expected. I believe I considered the implications of giving such an angry and stubborn teenager a 'tryout'. I thought I would encounter violence and ill-temper with every assessment I made the boy perform. I was convinced he would prove unsuitable for training, regardless of potential. I was resigned to failure. These conceptions of Jason are bleak and somewhat biased. In truth, I felt sorrier for him than impressed and that is why I brought him back to the cave to begin with. But, I was mistaken in my motives. I know now, I expected him to fail. I did not expect this.

Jason is not Dick. Comparing this abused youth to a prodigious and naturally-gifted athlete is unfair on so many levels, but I do it regardless. The results are remarkable. All of Dick's strengths, both in character and physicality, are Jason's weaknesses. But all of Dick's perceived weaknesses are Jason's strengths. This new boy is mentally stronger and more determined than Dick could ever hope to be. I think that, were I to train him to the same extremes as I did his predecessor, Jason would prove far more resilient and focused. Added to that is Jason's impressive ability to survive events and experiences that would cripple ordinary people. I admit, aside from anger, the boy is numb to several emotions we take for granted. With his history, such things are to be expected. One thing I am wholly convinced of his Jason's drive, his hell-bent determination to succeed; he is not a quitter. The way he stands before me at the audition's conclusion, dead on his feet, drenched with sweat and gasping for breath should mean he is not fit for the task. But his eyes are not glazed over; they are burning with intense desire and daring me to turn him away. They say no to the painful cramping he is feeling as an excuse to go to his knees. They scream 'fighter' in a way mine can never replicate. They tell me, in spite of physical weakness, his slight physique and his total lack of refinement, he is tough enough to be my partner. I smile at him.

"You pass, Mr. Todd." The boy's immediate reaction is to throw-up at my feet. His knees buckle slightly, but he remains upright.

"I've been holding that in for ten minutes." He informs me, spitting the last of it from his mouth. There is a grunt as he forces his head back up to look at me. Then he smiles. "Thanks, rich boy."

"You probably won't be thanking me tomorrow when training begins."

"Maybe the street urchin will surprise you." Jason replies, visibly wincing when forcing his body to take a single step, "We'll just have to see." Oh yes; the boy is very tough, very hard inside. I have picked the right recruit.

"Sir, I consider this a mistake." Alfred informs me after directing our guest to the bathroom and supplying him with some of Dick's old clothes to wear after. We are in the library, 'discussing' matters. "The young man you have brought into this house tonight is nothing but a stray. His current plight is one that generates immense pity, I admit, but he is not suitable for this life. He is not Master Dick." The old man adds as if Dick's leaving did not wound my pride enough. I turn from the bookcase and regard him in silence. After a time, I speak.

"I do not want a clone, Alfred; I want a partner. Jason is not the athletic or acrobat Dick was..."

"Is, Master Bruce, the acrobat that Dick _is_..."

"Do not interrupt me again, Alfred." I say with a blunt tone to ensure the old man is clear about who is serving whom here. "Jason may not be the talent Dick is, but I am certain he will work hard to attain the same level. Alfred, if you could've seen his eyes tonight, seen his raw potential, you would not side against me." Alfred looks at me with disdain.

"This young man is the son of a known criminal. He possesses a criminal record of his own. He is not a suitable candidate for a life dedicated to hunting criminals. It is, as they say, the 'wrong fit'."

"You haven't spoken to me once yet, Al. At least get to know me before you hang me for thievery." We both turn to see the very object of our conversation standing in the archway to the library. Dick's clothes are a far more appropriate fit for his frame and suit his face quite well; he could pass for a member of Gotham's most affluent...so long as he did not open his mouth. His elocution of the word 'thievery' and the choice of the word to begin with are most impressive. Even Alfred raises an eyebrow in response to its use.

"How are you feeling now, Jason?" I ask when the old man fails to give the boy a verbal reply.

"Cramped to hell, but at least I look nice. Even if the clothes are a little flashy for my taste." He offers without moving. It is strange that, were this Amusement Mile or Park Row, and were he surrounded by the noise of the city and its millions of inhabitants, Jason would not feel uncomfortable. At this very moment, he looks unnerved by the intimate and quiet surroundings of the house. Alfred's coldness is not helping him feel any better. I nod and smile at him.

"When we arrange things properly tomorrow, you can buy whatever clothes you like. For now I'm afraid your current attire will have to suffice." The boy shakes his head.

"I don't mean I don't like them; I just mean I feel over-dressed." He gives us both a nervous smile and a slight laugh. Alfred exchanges glances with me. He does not want this boy in the house. I tell him silently that Jason is staying whether he approves or not. In response to this, the old man adopts a far sunnier disposition. When he addresses the boy, he sounds warm and friendly.

"Not at all, Master Jason; I was just about to serve dinner." Jason's eyes flit to my suit and tie for a moment before going back to Alfred; he now seems even more uneasy.

"I don't know anything about table manners or napkins and junk." He tells the old man with more than a hint of panic. Amazing. Jason does not fear The Batman or the roughest streets in Gotham, but he is scared of a formal dinner. Alfred walks over to him and places a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. He pats it gently.

"Not to worry, young man. Do you know how to use a knife and fork or do you not know what I am talking about?" I smile at the old man's friendly mockery of Jason's roots, but am anxious the boy will take offence. Jason's decision to give him a genuine smile, one that says Alfred's particular brand of wit is appreciated, puts me at ease.

"Yeah, I know how to use a knife and fork, Al."

"Then you should encounter no problems tonight, Sir."

"Don't call me 'sir'; it's really weird."

"Would you prefer Master Jason?"

"Anything but sir or Jay-Jay; my mom called me that and I hated it." He announces to both of us. Alfred adopts a dean-pan expression and nods.

"Yes, Master Jay-Jay." Jason laughs and shakes his head.

"Very good. I said anything but Jay-Jay so you put 'Master' in front of it."

"I shall not do it again." The old man assures him with his typical sincerity. Jason nods his head in gratitude.

"Thanks."

Dinner is a subdued affair. The boy is exhausted from his earlier trials in the cave and only seems interested in sleep; he is presently manipulating the chicken breast round his plate rather than attempting to eat it. When he observes me watching him do this, he gives me a wry smile.

"I guess throwing-up four times kinda ruined my appetite." He explains. I nod in agreement.

"Yes, I apologize for the severity earlier. You are not seriously injured, are you?"

"No. I thought I was gonna break down and cry earlier when I was doing push-ups two-feet above the ground, but I didn't." Jason puts his fork down and presses a hand to his forehead. "I guess I'm tougher than I thought I was." I nod again.

"Yes, you are."

There is a brief silence. I watch the boy take gingerly sips of his water and wait patiently for him to speak. He seems willing enough now he understands I am not going to hurt him.

"So what happens now?" Jason inquires after a few more minutes of quiet. I lean back in my chair and shrug.

"I will let my attorneys deal with all legal matters pertaining to your adoption as my ward. There will be some red tape of course, but you will not have to appear before a judge or go back into the fostering system like before. You do understand what such matters mean for you, don't you?"

"I'm gonna have to work my ass off in that cave down there, aren't I?"

"It took me six months to train the previous Robin candidate. He was already an accomplished gymnast and incredibly fit when he began however. To train you to the same standard will take three months longer, if you pass all assessments first time. If you fail certain elements badly, it will take almost a year. You must obey my instructions at all times. You must follow my rules. You must never admit defeat. If you do not comply with any of these guidelines, I will not train you. This is a serious commitment, Jason; once you begin, you cannot give me anything but your absolute best. Any less from you would not be sufficient to pass. Do you understand?"

Jason's expression has yet to change. He nods his head without hesitation or regret. "I never give less than my best in anything I do. You need my best? You got it, big guy, nothing but the best." His voice oozes with conviction and heart, too things he will need if he is to get through the gruelling next few months of physical training to attain enough lean muscle mass to begin formal training as Robin. I nod in approval, something I find I do frequently with this youth; it is a good sign.

"Good. Training begins tomorrow morning. Alfred will take you to your room."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Following this chapter will be two more, _Bloodlust_ and _Graduate. Bloodlust_ will conclude Jason's training as Robin while _Graduate_ will detail his first patrol with Batman as Robin. Both other chapters will be published before Sunday afternoon. Enjoy.**

**Progression**

The boy has been in training for twelve weeks. In that time, he has gained twenty-five pounds of lean muscle mass whilst further reducing his body-fat. Such results in such a short timeframe are phenomenal, even by my standards. Jason's astonishing results have surprisingly little to do with the demanding physical training and strict diet I have placed him on. The boy's determination and refusal to quit in any session, no matter the pain, are what have allowed him such fantastic gains. He wants this so badly. He wants to be Robin more than anything else. That much is readily apparent to me.

Jason has never turned his anger and frustration on me. I know he has wanted to, many times. His eyes regard me with contempt when the training reaches breaking point. He wants to scream his head off at me, hurl abuse at my standards, my lack of pity, but he never opens his mouth. Every time I sense him ready to explode, Jason grits his teeth and carries on. Sometimes he screams, but only ever to force the last push-up out, the last pull-up. His control and discipline are remarkable for someone of his background. I find myself in awe of his dedication often.

Already the boy has proven himself stronger and more resilient than his predecessor. Jason can bench-press almost twice his own body weight and possesses endurance beyond any expectations. Although his flexibility, speed and acrobatic skills are not on par with Dick's, they are comparable. Jason's stamina at present is greater than Dick's by some way, an incredible achievement.

"Hold it." I say as Jason enters a minute-and-a-half of holding a handstand atop a three-inch platform suspended six- feet off the ground. This will be the fortieth and final time in this session he is required to hold a handstand for two minutes. In-between handstands he has been required to perform repetitions of push-ups, box-jumps, crunches and basic gymnastic manoeuvres to push his body to its limits of endurance. So far, the session has lasted one hour and fifty-nine minutes. Should he be able to last the final thirty seconds, he will be deemed fit enough to progress to actual training for mantle of Robin. This particular session is called _Conditioning Five_ and gifts those who complete it the physical conditioning of airborne combat soldiers and international athletes. Dick failed this session five times before passing. Jason has yet to fail any assessment; he does not look like upsetting that trend even now. His entire body position remains perfectly straight, his arms locked-out. Although sweating profusely, he is still not shaking from the strain.

The time comes and goes. Jason remains in position. I allow him to continue holding it for an extra minute. When there is still no sign of buckling, I let him carry on. It is another three minutes and thirty-one seconds before the boy's arms begin to shake. "Time." Jason's response to this command is to gently bend his arms and then force himself back off the platform. He lands on his feet before sinking to one knee. Seasoned gymnasts would struggle with such a rigorous examination of their conditioning; Jason is an amateur, but made it look effortless. He is special. I walk over to him.

"Congratulations. You have passed _Conditioning Five._" Jason looks up at me, glaring.

"Asshole. I held that last one for like six minutes." He snaps, his breathing visibly laboured from the effort.

"I knew you could take it."

"I still think it's unfair." The boy informs me, rising to his feet by sheer willpower. He will not let it degenerate into a proper argument and therefore will hold his tongue. His expression softens and he nods his head at me. "Thanks for the pass, Bruce; it means a lot."

"You have earned the accolade. Dinner will commence in an hour." I say. Jason does not begin to move immediately. He stays still, looking at me expectantly for a few moments. I am still unclear whether this boy wishes me to be affectionate towards him or not. His stay has so far been devoid of emotional bonding or any relationship beyond that of a mentor and student. Alfred has warmed towards his presence and the two of them seem to share an amicable friendship. I am reluctant to touch him because of his earlier abuse and refrain from doing so whenever possible. He appears indifferent to lack of physical contact, but is very proficient at hiding his emotions.

"Okay. See ya." The boy replies before turning to leave. He staggers for a few steps, before forcing himself to walk normally. It is very painful to do, given the amount of lactic acid in his muscles, but Jason is determined. I watch him ascend the steps.

"Jason, wait."

Jason stops halfway up the steps and looks back at me. "Yeah Bruce?"

I consider walking up the steps and giving him a hug or something else of a fatherly and reassuring nature at that moment. Even if such a gesture is received negatively, at least it will clarify our positions with one another. But I do not. I do not want to risk hurting him in anyway. "Nothing. I'm sorry to have troubled you."

Jason does not appear at the table on time. This is to be expected; he is always late. Alfred no longer chides him for it. The old man understands the boy still finds a strict set of rules and timings for meals somewhat awkward. After a further fifteen minutes, Jason enters the dining room and sits down. He still does not like 'dressing-up' for dinner in the evenings and has subsequently come in a clean set of grey work-out sweats and red Air Jordan's. His hair is damp from his hot shower, but aside from that he is well-presented. He waves at me and greets Alfred a few moments later.

"How long did you spend in the ice-bath?" I ask as the old man sets down our meals, grilled chicken breast, asparagus tips and sweet potatoes. It is the same thing we eat every night during training. It provides the right balance of protein, carbohydrates and minerals to repair shredded muscles after a workout. Jason answers my question without looking up from his plate.

"Twenty-five minutes." I only ever recommend fifteen minutes in the ice-bath. Any time beyond that does not provide a positive effect on flushing lactic acid from the body; it merely numbs extremities and encourages the onset of hypothermia. The boy seems to enjoy it and I am unclear as to why.

"And the hot shower afterwards?"

"Around ten." The hot shower afterwards is to warm the body back to an agreeable temperature and soothe the muscles. Jason takes an ice-bath followed by a hot shower after every single training session, without exception. His body responds well to this treatment.

"Jason, are you happy with our current arrangement?" The boy looks up from his plate, having already consumed half its contents. His appetite is ravenous to say the least; he does not have to force himself to eat like Dick. I would suppose he is more grateful for it after living on the streets. He offers me a puzzled stare.

"Arrangement?" He repeats as if unsure of the word's meaning.

"Yes, the manner in which you live here at the house. Do you like your room and Alfred's home-schooling and the training we conduct in the cave?"

"Yeah. They're all great."

"So, there's no aspect of your current lifestyle you do not like?" Jason's puzzled stare morphs into a worried frown.

"Have I done something wrong?" He asks, putting his cutlery down on the plate. I shake my head.

"No, not at all, I just…"

"What Master Bruce is trying to say, Master Jason, is; are you happy that he is not acting like a father towards you?" Alfred interrupts whilst presenting the boy with a tumbler of ice-cold water. I am not usually fond of the old man's interruptions when I speak. However, this occasion proved to be perfect for his input. He has successfully articulated my sentiments in a direct way I cannot do in such matters. Jason's frown disappears instantly and he nods in understanding of my question.

"No, I don't mind. I'm not your kid, so I don't expect you to treat me like a son or anything. To be honest, I think it's cool you'd put up with me like I am for this long and not try to be a dad, bossing me around and junk." The boy pauses, seeming to regret admitting so much, before adding, "Nobody's ever let me be who I am before. You're the only guy I've ever met who doesn't treat me like a stupid kid or a plaything. It's cool if I don't want to say anymore, right?" Jason looks like he would be uneasy admitting anything further. I gesture with my hand.

"That's fine. I think I understand your position."

"It's, uh, okay if you want to hug me or anything, but don't start tucking me in at night or reading me stories. That'd be kinda creepy." He tells me with a crooked smile, a gesture that straddles the line between nervousness and sarcasm. Both I and Alfred find it very endearing. I nod my head in appreciation.

"I understand, Jason." We return to dinner in mutual silence.

It is almost ten p.m. I am presently at Jason's bedroom door. I intend to inform him of tomorrow's activities. He is going to begin formal training for the mantle of Robin and this will begin with an introduction to combat. I will have to fast-track him through all grades of Karate, Jujitsu, Taekwondo, Kung-Fu, Krav Manga and various other martial arts disciplines if he is to acquire a large enough skill-set to engage a diverse range of targets. If he applies himself with the same vigorous work-ethic he has displayed thus far, I have every confidence he will become my partner. He will earn the right to be Robin. I knock on the door.

"Yo?"

"Jason, it's Bruce. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure, door's open, big guy."

When I open the door, I am greeted by the sight of Jason, clad only in his boxers, flexing in the mirror. "Am I disturbing you?" I ask, my hand still on the door handle. Without looking away from his reflection, the boy shakes his head.

"Nah. I'm just checking out the results of all the training. I look pretty sick, right? I mean, a thirteen-year-old isn't supposed to have this kind of muscle, not by a LONG way." He locks in a front double-biceps pose before turning on his heel so that his right arm is side-on to the mirror. Jason's physique is highly impressive, both in its level of detailing and size. I nod.

"Yes, well, I just thought I should mention the training schedule for tomorrow." The boy tenses his abdominals, placing his hands on his hips. He then tenses the remainder of his upper body; it splinters into striations whilst his abdominals appear carved from granite.

"Sure, I'm all-ears."

I brief him on tomorrow's activities. He continues to pose, not seeming even remotely embarrassed by my presence. It is strange how little he cares about people viewing him in such a radical state of undress. All I can assume is that his past was far more unpleasant than I already imagine it to be. After ten minutes, I have finished saying what I wished to inform him of. I then go to leave.

"Hey Bruce?" When I turn around, Jason has slipped his hooded top back over his torso and is looking at me.

"Yes, Jason?"

"If you want, you can call me Jay-Jay."

"I thought you hated that nickname."

"Only if other people were around. If it was just me and mom, Jay-Jay was fine. And…my dad used to call me it as well." Of course. The boy misses his parents. He has been starved of love and attention for over a year since his father's murder and would just like something familiar to comfort himself with. His changes in lifestyle have been radical to say the least and I would imagine the house and my wealth are still somewhat alien to the boy. At present, Jason seems very vulnerable, stood before me dressed as he is. I fight the urge to hug him, feeling it would not appropriate. I merely pose a question I feel the boy is too proud to just come out with.

"Would you like me to call you Jay-Jay when we're alone?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

"You miss them, don't you?"

"Every day. But it hurts less now. Being here makes it hurt less." These are small maybe insignificant gestures to most people, but not for us. Jason has finally shared some of his feelings with me, something he has so far avoided and admitted he would like more human contact with me. It is obvious the boy wants a certain amount of affection now and further bonding will help strengthen our partnership when in the field. Jason offers me a grateful smile and I nod in appreciation.

"Night Bruce."

"Goodnight, Jay-Jay."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Hectic schedule, conflict of interest, other typical excuses for not meeting aforementioned deadlines etc. Here is Bloodlust. Graduate to follow soon. Enjoy.**

**Bloodlust**

The boy has been in combat training for almost four months. The extended duration is not a reflection on Jason; he is not a poor student. Thus far, he has mastered eight diverse fighting styles from boxing to Kung-Fu and passed all grading assessments required to meet with the highest standards. Jason's problem is more elementary. Although extremely capable of employing painless techniques to incapacitate adversaries, the boy only ever strikes with brute force. Where a nerve strike would suffice, Jason uses a head-butt. Where a simply restraining arm-bar would ensure control, the boy opts for trying to break the collarbone or dislocate the shoulder. His level of violence and aggression is totally disproportionate to the situation; every scenario, every battle is like a war to this youth, one he must win at all costs. His improved conditioning and strength mean he is very effective at fighting like a common thug, while his added acrobatic abilities and knowledge of human anatomy elevate him above common errors and further enhance the effect of his hits. If he were any older, the impact of his blows could cripple even me, perhaps permanently. It is worrying to say the least.

In his other studies, those pertaining to criminology and forensic science, I find his efforts less than enthusiastic. Although his test scores are consistently above ninety per cent, he is not motivated to obtain the ninety-five per cent needed for a clear pass; he seems to want to coast. As his training enters its eighth month, Jason has grown listless. He bores of his studies and the routine easily, sometimes spending days at a time merely going through the motions instead of attempting an improvement. His behaviour is frustrating. But I must remember this is not an ordinary boy I am training; this is a once homeless youth who suffered abuse and difficulties when living on Gotham's streets. His father was killed by a psychopath, perhaps maybe right in front of his eyes. He is no doubt traumatised by his experiences in surviving this city's cruelty. I still struggle with what happened to my own parents. I understand why he acts as he does. I must be sensitive to it or risk alienating the only prospect I have seen to match Dick in terms of raw potential.

"Do not bite." I tell Jason sharply once the first round of sparring expires. In trying to counter my choke-hold, the boy resorted to biting my forearm with sufficient force to tear away some flesh and induce moderate bleeding. He then head-butted me in the chest before aiming a fist at my groin. I barely managed to block his strike. The boy bares his teeth at me, like some kind of wild dog, in reply to this command. I can still see flakes of my skin in his mouth. His eyes hold a feral look, a primal darkness that belongs only in animals. Bloodlust and the heat of combat have a very bad effect on Jason's ability to think. His movements become instinctive instead of as taught and he becomes uncontrollable.

"If you do not calm down, I will never take you into the field. You will never become Robin. This that what you want? "

"I should be out there already."

"No, you should not. You have failed your final theory exams, both in combat and criminology three times already."

"Only because ninety-four- point- nine per cent is not good enough for you."

"It's more than that, Jason. Your fixation on violence and causing pain is unhealthy especially since we operate outside of normal laws; if you were to kill someone due to excessive force, we would possess no recourse."

"I'm half your fucking size, Bruce! Any kid in that situation knows they'll never overpower their attacker so they need an alternative. I bit you because it was the smart play. And the results speak for themselves."

Our cohesion as a team is fraying with every argument and wrong action taken by both parties. At this rate, I will not have a ward at the end of the month, much less a partner. Jason's dedication is now giving way frequently to anger, something that serves little purpose in our work. Because communications are failing so badly, I resort to a different line of questioning and tone. Maybe if I am not so sharp and curt with the boy, it may help ease him back over. I want this to work. I gesture for him to come over to where I am currently standing. He does not move, preferring to remain still and eye me suspiciously.

"Jay-Jay, I just want to talk. Come over here and talk to me please." Jason finally relents and approaches me from the far side of the matted area. When he has closed to a few feet, he stops and waits for me to speak again. I place my hand on his shoulder, making sure the contact is light, not heavy; Jason detests heavy contact of any kind outside of combat. "I'm sorry if I have upset you in some way. I wish you to know it was never my intention to hurt you. I would really like this to work, Jason, our partnership. So what's the problem? Is it that you're bored of training? Do you feel you've trained enough? I need you to tell me what's up so I can fix it. I don't want to lose you over a fight that could've been easily resolved if we'd just talked. You're too good a student to lose."

What I have just told him, about his being a good student, is entirely true. I have not presented him with a single challenge I believe him incapable of passing. His levels are near equal to Dick in almost every way. Jason's only fallacy is his allowance of negative emotion to cloud his better judgement, the onset of 'red mist' as Alfred has come to refer to it as. As soon as the youth realizes this flaw and learns to suppress it, he will be ready for the mantle. Until then, I cannot give him such responsibilities. Jason smiles at me.

"I'm good huh?"

"Yes."

"And, coming from you that must mean I'm really good. Like one of the best in the world, right?"

"There is no standard above mine. My standard is the pinnacle of knowledge and application. You have nearly attained it…three times." Jason's eyes seem to widen.

"You mean…I'm that close?" He sounds surprised by the revelation. He should know how close he is to being Robin; if he passes his exams, he WILL wear the costume. It is difficult for me to admit I am willing to do something so hasty, especially when considering his troubled past, but the alternative does not bear thinking about. We are eight months into a training program so intense and so rigorous in its standards that the only possible individuals to survive it are candidates who are beyond the most elite individuals in the world. Jason is elite in every sense of the word, regardless of background or problems, he is elite. My hand is suddenly heavy on his shoulder, something he notices immediately. Before he or I am aware of what is happening, my arms have pulled him flush against my body and I am embracing him for the first time in our relationship. Jason's body is stiff for only a moment before softening with surprising ease. Maybe this kind of intimate contact is what he has needed all along and certainly in recent weeks. My sympathies for this child have finally overwhelmed my discipline as his mentor and manifested themselves in a way that feels strangely organic, when it should be the furthest thing from it. My hand strokes his hair and he makes no objection. I regret I did not do this with him earlier; it could have assisted in diffusing many previous conflicts. I forget his age and the frailties that can only come with youth; he is so tough for a boy of fourteen, so very hard inside. We stay as we are for minutes, my hand still rhythmically running through his hair.

"I never wanted to control you, Jay-Jay." I tell him without relinquishing my hold, "My only wish was for you to control yourself, the anger you keep inside you. Mastering that rage is the key to progressing to your final goal. You understand?" Jason's response is to wrap his arms around me, as tightly as possible. Then he speaks, honestly and without false bravado for the first time in a long while.

"It's hard. It protects me. When I'm scared or feel like everything's gonna crush me flat, being angry protects me. When I let it come out, I feel safe, like everything's gonna be okay. When I'm mad…nothing can hurt me."

"Don't you feel safe now?" My question prompts the youth to raise his head up from my chest and meet my gaze. He is frowning.

"You're not gonna hold me forever, Bruce; I'm gonna need something else to lean on."

"You understand that you're not alone Jason; I'm not asking you to charge into a battlefield on your own or would ever want you to think you were."

"One day I might have to."

"One day, maybe. But right now, you have me to protect you until you can fight on your own."

"I'm not gonna be your son, Bruce."

"You don't need a father, Jason; you just need a friend. We are friends, right?" Jason regards our positions. We are still locked in each other's grip. He looks at me and smiles.

"You're the best friend I've ever had. And," The boy pauses to push himself free of my body, "That's all I want to say about that. As for…all this other stuff, the acting like a stroppy three-year-old girl and the biting, I'm sorry. I only want to tell you from now on, I'll try harder and everything before this point is no longer important. Cool?" I regard him sternly.

"You promise?" I ask extending my hand out to seal the agreement. Jason gives up a lop-sided grin and a nod before shaking my hand firmly.

"When you say jump, I say: with a spinning kick or backflip?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: End of story unless directed otherwise by enthusiastic reviews. Enjoy.**

**Graduate**

This is not an acid test. This is not a test of any kind. This is merely confirmation of Jason's suitability for Robin's mantle. How he performs on patrol tonight will hopefully alleviate any lingering doubt or trepidation in my mind. It has been almost a year of training for him to arrive at this point. His progression through my tuition has been at times both remarkable and frustrating in equal measure. Anger has been a key theme to hindering his development throughout the training program, but is now adequately under control. The boy has passed all exams and combat tests required to reach this patrol. His street sparring with me - an assessment that requires he be hit no more than twice in order to pass - was particularly impressive. Jason scored eleven hits on me whilst only receiving one in reply. It was the most times I have been hit by a single individual in almost two years. He is as ready as he will ever be to do this work. And now we stand together on the rooftops of Gotham as Batman and Robin.

Jason insisted on wearing his predecessor's costume, something that proved difficult to accommodate. Jason is presently two years older and almost thirty pounds heavier than Dick was when taking up the mantle. The tunic had to be radically adjusted to fit his frame whilst the 'pixie' shorts, boots, gloves and belt had to be re-sized entirely. Offering him Dick's later costume variants proved useless; he wanted the costume Dick had worn on his very first patrol because he felt it would give the occasion greater significance and grandeur. Personally I just think he enjoys being difficult. Regardless, we are about to commence patrol duties.

"Ready to make a difference, Robin?" I inquire as we stare down at the city below. Jason smirks at me and nods.

"Let's do this."

The patrol starts innocuously enough in The Narrows. We encounter a few examples of racketeering and extortion against small business owners and poverty-stricken residents of the area. The type of thug doing this kind of work is tall, powerfully-built and slow-witted; a perfect first opponent for the boy. I gesture at two as they begin to flex their muscle on a frail-looking deli owner on Elm Street.

"Think you can take them on your own?" I inquire. The boy looks at me and nods.

"I'd like to think so." I like the confidence.

"So go get them, Boy Wonder." Jason swings down from the rooftop we are situated on to the sidewalk where the crime is taking place. The two thugs regard the boy and then one another in confusion.

"Is it Halloween or something?" One asks out loud. Robin has not been seen in this city for over two years; this will be interesting.

"Stop what you're doing or I'll make you." Jason tells them simply and without smiling. He does not look nervous, only intensely focused on the task at hand. The thugs laugh briefly before deciding to test the claim for themselves. They come forward to hit him and find thin air. Jason makes no quips and instead seems more intent on taking them down. I watch him dodge incoming blows from both simultaneously and counter with stinging hits to the floating ribs and solar plexus. Amazingly, despite their weight advantage being surplus of almost a hundred and fifty pounds, the boy only needs to strike them three times each to bring them to their knees. Once there, instead of opting for an unnecessary head-butt or heel kick, Jason incapacitates them with a single uppercut each. He radios the police and checks that the deli owner is okay. The man may not press charges, but at the very least he is likely to be undisturbed for the time being. When the boy returns to my position, I nod in satisfaction.

"That was very…efficient, Robin. Shall we move on?" I say. Jason does not answer immediately. I find him studying his knuckles and frowning at something imperceptible. Then he nods.

"Lead the way, Batman."

Between us, we neutralise an additional eight enforcers in The Narrows. The boy grows more vocal with every additional opponent he takes down until he too is making jokes and laughing at them as Dick once did. It is good to see he is enjoying himself but even better to see it has yet to make him arrogant; evidently drumming restraint into Jason's head countless times in the build-up to this event has paid off. He puts them down without even attempting to play around and appears wholly content just to defeat them. When we leave the area, I feel the night is going far better than I could have anticipated.

After diffusing a potential gang-rape situation in Park Row and halting a narcotics shipment near Amusement Mile, we head to GCPD headquarters. Jim Gordon is shining the signal again and I am confident enough in Jason's abilities to allow a bigger challenge. I did not permit this with Dick because I felt he was slightly too young and naïve at the time, but this new boy is far harder and more world-weary. So we will start at the deep-end. When we arrive on the rooftop, Jim Gordon is alone and holding a thick dossier under his arm. When he spots Jason, I see the shock on his face even in the darkness.

"Evening, Jim." I say to break the tension when he does not speak for almost five minutes. He clears his throat.

"Evening. So, you've got a new one." Jim replies scrutinising at my new partner, "At least he's older than his predecessor was." He extends a hand out to the boy. "Nice to meet you, son. Robin, is it?" Jason smirks and shakes his hand.

"Be kinda stupid if it was anything else, don't you think?" Gordon rewards his humour with an amused smile. He looks at me.

"At the very least he's got the right mouth for this job."

"Yes. Do you have something for us to investigate?"

"No, we've done the investigating for you this time as absurd as that may sound. All we need you and your new boy to do is bring them in. We've already issued warrants for their arrests only they don't want to come quietly. At the moment they're holed up in one of the old shipping yards near Gotham Docks with a small army guarding them. Rather than make a spectacle out of the whole thing I was hoping I could rely on you to get them here without a media circus or the need for body bags. Take a look for yourself." Jim hands me the dossier for inspection.

The two individuals Gordon wishes to be brought in, Manny Curtis and Walter Bonneville, are known to me. I have had extensive dealings with Curtis through his affiliations with many different gangs in Gotham whilst Bonneville was involved in Luciano Fognini's narcotics business for almost three years. Both are guilty of innumerable crimes and violations and I have no qualms in making them suffer prior to their arrest. When I ascertain their current location as a shipping yard I helped shut down due to narcotic trafficking through the premises, I am highly confident of success. I hand the dossier back to Jim and nod. "Leave it to us. I'll contact you when both are clear of the structure. Let's go Robin."

The drive there is conducted in silence. Jason does not seem particularly conversational tonight which is surprising given his performance with the local degenerates and is still regarding his knuckles distastefully as if there is something wrong with them. I make a mental note to ask him later. We arrive at the shipping yard less than twenty minutes after leaving GCPD headquarters.

Although the facility is heavily fortified and guarded by rifle-wielding foot soldiers at all possible entry and exit points, the fact we are operating at night gives us the advantage. A quick observation reveals that neither Curtis nor Bonneville have enough reputation for their bosses to gift them night vision goggles for their escorts. Both Jason and I slip past the first two guards by using a discarded brick thrown against containers as a distraction. Once we have breached this first line of security, we split off and take half the yard each, maintaining radio silence until the suspects are found. I evade the detection of a further twelve guards without the use of force and find myself inside the main offices less than five minutes later. Here the security presence is less pronounced but there are still single man patrol teams roaming the corridors and overlapping arcs. I utilize the ventilation system to bypass four patrols and enter the manager's office, emerging hidden from view behind the desk. The room is dark and empty. They are not in this part of the facility.

"_Hello Batman, this is Robin, message over."_

"Send."

"_Targeted persons found. Location East Yard, Main Warehouse, Loading Dock C_. _Proceed with takedown?"_

I open my mouth to tell him to wait for my arrival but stop myself before I transmit. I find I do not trust him to conduct two simple incapacitation drills on his own and am surprised at my lack of faith in his abilities and training. He is Robin and he is trained to the highest standards. He has operated with respectable levels of restraint and been perfect so far in his performance tonight. I wanted him to tackle this challenge so I must let him proceed or risk fracturing the team dynamic before it is fully formed.

"Proceed."

I wait for only a few seconds before Robin confirms both Curtis and Bonneville have been rendered unconscious. The boy is now awaiting my rendezvous on his current location for transportation and extraction drills, exactly as practiced. I reach his location less than three minutes later, avoiding approximately thirty-five individual guards and six two-man sniper sections. I find Jason crouched over the two men in an office screened from view. The boy has secured both of them with zip ties, ensuring to bound their wrists to the front and cross their ankles to the rear. Both are unconscious but appear uninjured otherwise. Judging from the way in which their eyes are open but rolled up into their heads I would assume a nerve pinch on both was the method of disablement. I nod at Jason in silent approval. I should trust him unequivocally. I am still reserved despite all evidence to the contrary.

We shoulder one man each for standard casualty carry drills and extract from the area by the sealed rear door entrance to the warehouse. Jason uses the handheld blowtorch to unseal the exit and allow us to slip back into the exterior yard. From here, we climb a shipping container and fire our grapnels to the buildings just outside of the fence. Sporadic gunfire accompanies our exit but it is not aimed in our direction and is more than likely someone alerting others that their cargo has vanished. Jason carries Bonneville all the way back to the car without difficulty despite the man outweighing him by almost sixty pounds. His strength is remarkable. I radio Gordon to inform him we have both men in custody and will transport them back to GCPD. He elects not to send in any swat teams to clear the yard because there is no need; he has what he wants from there and is unconcerned at present about anything but obtaining confessions. It is a perfectly understandable and practical approach to the situation.

"Are you okay Jason?" I ask as we drive back from delivering Curtis and Bonneville. Since leaving the warehouse, the boy has been utterly silent. His inspection of his knuckles has increased and he does not seem enthused or happy about anything that has transpired tonight, even his own performance which I would grade as stellar. Jason shrugs.

"I'm fine."

"Would you like to know how you performed tonight?" I ask only for the boy to frown.

"Can we wait until we're back at the cave?"

"Is there a particular reason for this?"

"I just like being home for things like this. That's okay right?" He says turning to look at me. I nod my head.

"That's fine."

When we arrive back at the cave, Alfred is ready to greet us with some trepidation on his face. The old man has been concerned about Jason too. When I approach him I nod and watch relief transform his face. He goes to ask the boy something only for me to warn him against it with a hand gesture. He frowns at me but refrains from engaging the youth. He silently asks me what the problem is and I communicate that it is nothing I cannot handle myself. The old man bows his head and withdraws up to the house. I watch Jason cross the cave floor and sit himself down on the floor beside the steps. He takes his domino mask off and regards it in his hand. He then looks up at me and offers half-a-smile. I approach him whilst removing my cowl. I crouch down in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Is everything okay Jay-Jay?" I ask him. He nods.

"You know it's really weird? I was looking forward to this night for the whole year I was training. And when we set off I was excited and really up for it. But it's not like I thought it would be. I thought we'd make a difference, but we didn't really make a difference at all. The city's still a shithole and people are still monsters and sickos. It all seems so pointless. It doesn't matter how many scumbags I hit, it's still never going to be enough."

This reaction of his to my on-going crusade is understandable from an outsider's point of view, but I had not expected this from the boy I made my second Robin, especially after our lectures on the meaning of our mission. We need to accept we cannot eliminate crime entirely because it is unfeasible, but we can make the city far safer for its inhabitants by targeting the major sources of corruption and criminality on a regular basis. I accepted this long ago and so did Dick in his tenure as Robin. I had thought Jason had too but I suppose it is different for someone who has experienced the ugliest side of this city from street level. I smile at him understandingly.

"You performed to the best of your ability and it resulted in an outstanding effort on your part. You made a difference tonight. You spared a woman a lifetime of psychological trauma by preventing her being raped and saved a businessman's livelihood by taking down his would-be attackers. That may only be a small difference in the grand scheme of things, but it IS a difference that can be measured. Do you remember how painful those situations were for you?"

"Yeah."

"Well now they don't have to go through it thanks to you. Don't you feel better for helping them avoid those things?" I say hoping this will help galvanise him to a more positive way of seeing his contributions. He shrugs his shoulders.

"I guess so." The boy says before considering something, "Do you really think I did okay tonight?"

"You did a brilliant job. I'm very proud of you, very proud." I inform him whilst gently pulling him up into a standing position. He smiles at me in a way I find awfully endearing. My earlier reservations seem somewhat unfounded in light of this very honest discussion on his feelings; it was only a few weeks earlier he was still resistant to talking anything through with me despite his improved attitude to training. For him to share his doubts is a great leap of faith for someone as mistrusting as he is. He looks at me hopefully.

"So I'm a good replacement then?"

"You're not a replacement Jason; you are Robin and you are unique, just as your predecessor was unique. I hope you come to realise in time just how unique you really are." I do not believe he is accustomed to being spoken to in this way; he looks stunned by the idea even though I have made certain to compliment and encourage his later progress through training to avoid more anger and regressions. I feel like I should try to offer a physical gesture of affection.

I move in to hug him only for the boy to move away. He smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "It's okay; you don't have to hug me if you don't want to." I move back towards him.

"Why would you think I wouldn't want to? Do you not want a hug?" I am not outwardly affectionate most of the time and neither is the boy, but he is fourteen and has been through some unspeakable things on this city's streets; for his performance he deserves to know how much I have grown to love him and his presence in my life. It has been a struggle admittedly, but there is no denying I am as fond of him as I ever was of Dick which is a bold statement in itself. He needs to understand how proud I am of his progress and his conduct as my partner in this mission and how eager I am for him to stay in the role for as long as he is willing. Jason looks almost embarrassed as he replies.

"Yeah?"

"So come here and get one. It's alright; I won't tell anyone about it." He awkwardly initiates the hug, the first time he has done so in our relationship and wraps his arms round my back. I reciprocate and squeeze him gently. Although the contact is brief, Jason still manages to say one thing before letting go that again really strikes a chord with me.

"You're the best friend I ever had." He tells me simply. When we separate again I consider something.

"If you ever have any doubts again, about anything whatsoever…" I begin only for the boy to cut me off with a smile and a nod.

"I know big guy. It means a lot." He thumbs to the steps behind him. "I'm going to go shower and hit the sack. I'll see you at breakfast?"

"I'll see you then."

"Goodnight Bruce." He says turning his back and beginning his ascent to the library. I watch him in silent appreciation of what he and I have accomplished together tonight and during our entire relationship to arrive at this point. I find I regret nothing at this moment and am content with the outcome as he disappears from view. I nod my head in satisfaction.

"Goodnight Robin."


End file.
